


Mother Dearest

by FruityPebblezz



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Family Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruityPebblezz/pseuds/FruityPebblezz
Summary: A death in the family stirs painful memories of the past.





	Mother Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of people on Tumblr enjoyed this one, so I'm gonna post it here too. Hope you enjoy.

1932:

Rene had just turned 12 years old the previous day. It was a Monday; he was coming home from a late day at school with a library book when his mother stopped him in the hallway.

“That neighbor girl appeared on the doorstep today,” his mother hissed, her arms crossed firmly against her chest as she stared Rene down. “She was looking for you,”

“Oh,” was all Rene said. “I was staying late at school, and I got a library book—”

His mother broke in, “You are to come right home after school. I have told you, more than once, that you are disobedient if you stray anywhere else,”

“Mother, please!” he argued. “The library is right beside the school! I didn’t walk far,”

“Oh, really?” His mother’s eyes were burning into his soul. “Then what made you late?”

Rene fell silent. He shifted his feet, and then looked up at his mother. “I…I auditioned for the school play. It’s Hamlet, and—”

His mother grabbed him by the hair, startling a yelp out of him and dragging him off. “Little beast! Did I give you permission to be in a play!?”

“No, ma’am!” he whimpered back weakly, squirming to escape.

Her grip tightened on him. “You are lucky I’m feeling nice today: otherwise, you’d get a damn good beating!”

She opened the closet, shoving him inside and slamming the door.

Rene sat in that filthy, dusty closet, and he curled up. Tears filled his eyes, and he began to weep softly, curling in on himself.

“One day…” he murmured, his tears hot and salty as they trickled down his cheeks. “One day, she will be sorry for this…”

1972:

“Has anyone seen Spy?” Engineer wanted to know, looking around the dining table when he noticed Spy was absent.

Medic shook his head, pouring water from a pitcher into some glasses. “No, not recently. He collected his mail and that was the last I saw of him,”

“Yeah, the lad’s been in his room the whole day,” Demo confirmed. “Never seen him leave it,”

“Hm,” Engineer pursed his lips together before finally saying, “Scout? Scout, could you go check on him?”

Scout made a face, gulping down another fork of mashed potatoes. “Why do I gotta do it?”

“Mate, stop mucking around and just knock on the door,” Sniper piped up beside him, not looking up from a magazine in his lap.

Scout sighed dramatically, rising from the chair and heading upstairs to the rooms.

He made his way to Spy’s quarters, knocking on the door. “Yo, Spy! We got dinner here, you comin’ out ever?”

No answer. Scout knocked again, and when there was still no response, a knot of worry began to form in Scout’s gut.

“Hey, man,” Scout knocked a third time. “C’mon, crabface, this ain’t funny! You in?”

Finally, Spy replied from within, “Jeremy, please come in,”

Scout was taken aback, but by two things: Spy had used his real name, which was rare, and he’d addressed him in a very bizarre tone of voice. Spy sounded…weak. His voice was quivery and low, it was a miracle Scout even heard him from the other side of that thick door.

After a moment’s hesitation, Scout turned the handle slowly and opened the door, peeking in and taking stock of the room.

Spy sat in his armchair, holding a glass of wine in one hand while keeping a slip of paper clenched tightly in the other. On the desk in front of him sat scattered, black and white photos, and as Scout approached, he could see that there were tears in Spy’s eyes.

Spy looked up, and he pulled up the folding chair near him and motioned for Scout to sit. Scout looked at the chair, the photos on the desk, and then back at Spy, before sitting in the provided chair.

“Is…everythin’ okay?” Scout wanted to know, concerned. He and Spy didn’t get along, that was clear, but that didn’t change the fact that this was all very strange.

Spy said nothing for several moments, sipping on the wine again. Finally, after what felt like ages, he cleared his throat, blinking his reddened eyes and saying, “My mother is dead,”

“Oh…” Scout didn’t know what to say. That was his grandmother, then, but Scout had never met her. Had she even known about him? He didn’t even know she was still alive…although, obviously, not anymore. “God, I’m sorry,”

Spy sighed, setting the wine glass down. “I…I thought you should know, at least. I broke contact with her years ago, but one of my uncles managed to contact me and tell me,” he fished out the letter he’d received, holding it up. “She died of heart failure—she was sixty-seven years old,”

He then set down the paper, digging around the photos and handing Scout one of a woman. “This is her when she was nineteen, shortly before she married my father,”

Scout squinted at the photo. She was pretty, and he was a bit disturbed by how much she looked like Spy. “Wow…she was a great lady, huh?”

“No,” Spy remarked simply, sipping the wine as his raw eyes glared at the picture. “She was the worst,”

This statement caught Scout off-guard, and he glanced up in surprise. “Huh?”

Spy set the wine glass down, picking up another photo and explaining, “She was so strict, she had so many rules in that damn house. She liked to torment me, insult me and in general, she made me feel unwanted,”

“Oh…” Scout looked back down at the photo in his hand, and then back at Spy. “Damn, I had no idea. Did you…did you leave?”

Spy nodded. “Oh, yes. It took forever, but I managed to move out on my own when I was seventeen. I went to college, dropped out, ended up in America, and well,” he shrugged, pouring more wine. “I won’t tell you all the details, there are some I would rather keep private,”

“Yeah, okay,” Scout replied; secretly thankful Spy wasn’t going to tell him his whole life’s story. There was a pause, and then Scout asked, “So…if she hated you so much…why you cryin’ over her so bad?”

“I…” Spy’s voice got caught in his throat, and he swallowed. “She is not who I’m crying over, Jeremy. It’s…” he looked defeated, his eyes resting on the floor. “Having her as a mother…it made me afraid. I was twenty-five when you were born, Jeremy, and I was elated but I was so scared of turning into her,”

“Well, ya didn’t,” Scout tried to add encouragingly, but Spy wouldn’t hear it.

“No, you do not understand,” Spy shook his head, his eyes pressed shut. “I was so afraid that I made myself scarce when you were a boy, and then I disappeared completely. I was not there at all—I was worse than her!” his voice broke, and he covered his face. He rocked back and forth a bit, and Scout could tell he was crying.

Unsure of what else to do, Scout moved close to him, putting an arm around him. “No, no, no!” Scout assured, trying to keep his voice gentle. “No, man! You’re not…God, you ain’t worse than her! I’d take you over her any day, you know that, and you ain’t anything like her,”

Spy’s only reply was a pitiful sniffle. Scout moved a little closer, patting his shoulder. “Listen,” Scout began. “You don’t gotta ever worry about that bullshit, dad,”

Spy looked up, making eye contact with Scout for a moment before he burst into tears again, pulling Scout close and hugging him tightly. Scout felt his own tears pricking at his eyes, and he hugged back, pressing his face into Spy’s shoulder. Spy smelled awful: like sweat and blood with the fanciest cologne layered over it, but Scout didn’t care.

They hugged each other and wept for a long time, and they both understood that they must weep. It was needed here.


End file.
